


The Only Box Under the Tree

by astraplain



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7050058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraplain/pseuds/astraplain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The presents are stacked on a side table because only one box is allowed under the tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Box Under the Tree

The last of the guests left at 1:30 a.m. and Kurt all but collapsed onto the sofa. He reached for Adam, ignoring the mess that would have to be cleared away in the morning.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Adam pleaded, bypassing the pile of gifts on the side table to take the box from its place of honor under the tree.

“One each?” Kurt wheedled, knowing Adam would give in. Adam shook his head and smiled, leaning in for a kiss before setting the box on the coffee table and lifting the lid. Inside was a jumble of ticket stubs, receipts and notes scribbled on scraps of paper. There were photocopied programs from student-written plays and quickly scribbled song lyrics with terrible rhymes.

“A Midsummer Muriel,” Kurt read the program he’d picked at random, shifting so he and Adam could look at it together. They’d helped Muriel prepare the one-woman version of Shakespeare’s play for her final NYADA project and she’d given them tickets to the performance knowing they couldn’t really afford the small entry fee.

“That was a great show, no matter that the judges weren’t impressed.” Adam frowned at the memory of the judges’ expressions when backstage cues got mixed and the theater filled with bubbles and fog.

“We certainly used that fog to our advantage.” Kurt gave Adam a devilish grin.

“My favorite distraction,” Adam kissed Kurt fondly before picking an item from the box. He laughed at the handwritten note from the owner of a local thrift shop. “My thank you gift for volunteering: The Bugaloos DVDs, those awful things.”

“Which are sitting on the shelf right over there,” Kurt waved toward the DVD shelves. “You love that show, admit it.”

“Love to mock it, perhaps. You’re the one with the soft spot for accents.”

“Very true,” Kurt agreed, snuggling up against Adam. “Especially yours. Tell me the story?”

“That old thing? Wouldn’t you rather hear something new?“

"Other people might settle for "Twas the Night Before Christmas”, I want our version of O Henry.“

"It wasn’t quite that desperate, no one cut their hair.” Adam tugged a lock of Kurt’s hair as if to prove his point. Kurt pretended to nip at his hand.

“Do I have to remind you that I sacrificed Prada for you?”

“My hero,” Adam laughed as he leaned forward to search the box. He withdrew a photograph of the Apples with him in the middle wearing a colorful patchwork vest. He handed the photo to Kurt and settled them both comfortably as he started his tale.

“Our second Christmas together and both of us too poor and overworked to leave the city. We were scraping by, but there wasn’t much left for gifts. We’d agreed not to buy anything for each other but it was hard, knowing how much you’d sacrificed through the year.”

“And you. You were working two jobs and doing volunteer work between auditions. You wrote your first musical that year.”

“I did,” Adam laughed. “It was dreadful.”

“It was not. I don’t know anyone else who could have worked a song about the health benefits of kale into a murder mystery.”

“I will go to my grave insisting that one of the Apples put that in as a joke.” Adam placed his hand on Kurt’s chest, over his heart as if pledging an oath.

“That would be more believable if the original wasn’t in your handwriting.” Kurt shifted, looking up into Adam’s eyes.

“A clever lot of scoundrels, my Apples." 

"Clever indeed. Especially their leader. You gave me the best present that year.” Kurt reached out and tapped the box. “Even after we agreed there’d be nothing under the tree.”

“Nothing we bought,” Adam corrected, as he did every time they shared this story. “I didn’t even give you something that you could unwrap. You gathered bits of fabric from all of our friends and made me that vest.”

“You wore it when you took me on the best date of my life.” Kurt laughed at the memory of a weekend spent exploring the city with little more than pocket change and a stack of free passes and coupons that Adam had traded and bargained for. They’d seen a foreign film without subtitles, attended the rehearsal for an organ recital, and learned to square dance. There had been a couples’ yoga session, a tree speed-decorating contest and spontaneous dancing to street musicians. Adam’s coupons had provided soft pretzels, hot dogs and the best chocolate milkshake Kurt had ever tasted. For three days it had been the two of them, a little stack of paper and endless possibilities. They’d enjoyed themselves so much that it had become their holiday tradition.

“Experiences not bric-a-brac,” Adam recited, laughing when Kurt joined in. “Clutter the brain, not the apartment." The Apples had heard that particular phrase of Adam’s so often they’d set it to music.

"Don’t clutter my brain too much, I’ll run out of room.”

“Never!” Adam tapped the box. “We’re on the unlimited plan. Places to go, things to do.”

“Songs to sing,” Kurt added, putting the items back in the box turning so he could tuck his head under Adam’s chin and listen to him breathe. Adam didn’t have to be asked to know what Kurt wanted. Softly he started to sing “Wrinkle My Brain”. He’d written the song three years ago and sang it to Kurt as he presented him with an empty key-ring. Now that key-ring rested next to Adam’s on the hook beside the door and the song had become their anthem.

The song ended, Adam letting the last note trail off into silence. Kurt snuggled closer, eventually drifting off. Adam listened to him breathe for a while, watching the tree lights blink. Tomorrow they’d spend the day cleaning and finishing their Christmas preparations and in three days they’d be here on the sofa again, exchanging gifts. Next year the box under the tree would include their newest additions - ticket stubs from a trip to Italy.

::end::


End file.
